Here's to peeing on sticks!

I am mid cycle number two since my surgery.  The good news is a few of my symptoms seem better.  The bad news is that one of those symptoms was the bloated painful ovulation.  So now I have no way of knowing if/when I ovulate.  I have joined the ranks of the scores of normal women who have no freakin clue when to get freaky.  So back I go to the pleasure of temperature charts, mucus and pee sticks.  Post op this filled me with dread, but right now, having gone through two physically uneventful ovulation cycles, I am feeling the urge to map out my mysterious new me. Maybe I can even justify getting a new shirt by calling it a "lab coat".  Dorky, yes, but I realize I may have to approach this like an adult version of "making potty training fun by having little boys pee on cheerios for target practice".   I will keep the discharge checking completely professional.  That's the kind of business that should never be mixed with fun.  

Perception vs. Reality

I gotta be fair:

A large part of why this blog is currently private is because I am aware that I don't always see things the way they really are, and I need to be able to vent my crazy, and then read it later to compare reality to perception.  I want to be able to execute this process and not hurt any well meaning people in the process. 

Truth:  I did go ape$&^!#! crazy over my perception that my sweet mom was not wishing for me what I was wishing for myself (see prior posts).  However, in retrospect I am thinking my mothers "disconnect"  may have actually been my own disconnect  - with reality.   

Victory:  I recently had a candid phone melt-down with my mom about my desire to adopt older kids, and how I perceived that some people thought I was crazy for this.  Boy did she ever rally! I feel so free and liberated now.   My mom loves me more than anyone on Earth does, and I forget, or don't tolerate the fact that she probably hurts for me worse and more often than I hurt for myself.  

Reality is I am a girl with a very wonderful mother.     

Humsters

Hubby had a semen analysis recently.  His original testing was over three years old, so we were required to be re-tested with our new doc.  Three years ago we had a bad morphology issue (AKA funky shaped swimmers.)  Unlike sperm count, or volume, morphology isn't really something that can be changed.  What little research has been done on indicates that it is genetic.  Both RE's I had review Hubby's stats determined that pregnancy was not impossible, just tougher, and given how long we had already been trying, we were officially deemed "unexplained", not "Male Factor". 

My new clinic uses the World Health Organization standards for semen analysis, which are different from the criteria used on the old test, (Krueger Strict for morph) so straight comparisons were going to be tough anyway, but here is the verdict:  We are now the proud parents of a penetrated hamster egg!  

My new RE uses the ultra techno savvy method of checking your swimmers by taking a hamster egg, dumping semen on top of it, and letting nature take its course.  Yes, it is disturbing to refer to "nature" regarding the mixing of Human and Hamster, but apparently hamster eggs are very similar to human eggs, and of course there is no X-man way that it is genetically viable for a man to impregate a hamster.  However that said, if all crazy were to break lose, and I were to be the proud mother of a Humster, i vow that I would love and care for it, and hide it from the government the way every good mother of a freak should.  

I thought this hamster egg thing was the most bizarre thing I had ever heard, and told everyone I ran into about it, so let's cross our fingers my first biological child does not have a big ears or a semi mouse face.   Poor kid will never live it down.  

The other verdict:  Hubby had stellar results across the board.  I have to say how disconcerting this is.  Was the original test wrong, is this one wrong, or should I be celebrating this mini miracle?  During the week long wait between the test and the results, I had gone through a lot of self therapy and had revved myself up for the bad results and the reality that IVF is our next step, so when Hubby told me the good news I congratulated him and burst in to tears.  It had been a really hard, transformational week  - for nuttin.   My psyche just couldn't take it.   Thank heavens I don't really have a humster baby to take care of at home.  I need some me time.  

Post-Op Update

It has been about a month since my laparoscopy. I haven't started working out yet, but other than that I am back to normal, and I am even having my first period since the lap. Actually, the not working out means I am REALLY back to normal. Four weeks to normal isn't bad. However two weeks post op I honestly thought I would never walk normally again. I still couldn't walk without having to bend over to catch my breath. Flights of stairs were so hard. I was still in so much pain. I was convinced the surgen had accidentally sewn me together erroneously because when I tried to stand up straight it felt like my right innards were ripping apart. Two weeks out I went for my post op check-up and had a MELT-DOWN. I was still so sad about the endo, I was in so much pain, I had severely underestimated how long it would take to recover, and I had so many questions about what my course of action should be in light of the endo. I came to the appointment armed with a list of questions, and as I was reading them I rapidly descended from quivering lip, to full on ugly cry, to full on mental break-down laying in reclined front seat of car in fetal position. Good thing Lowell insisted on coming. Someone had to drive.
I just need to document the bad, because now that I am feeling better I worry I will forget how truly awful this was. I am worried I might sugar coat the lap for some poor girl. Really I think my procedure was not abnormal, I just had completely unrealistic ideas about it. I went to work after 2 days off plus the weekend. STUPID. I strongly recommend taking two weeks off work, and if you don't end up needing that much time - great.

I guess I am not so thrilled anymore

Ok, so my triumphant last post was a bit premature. Now I am sad. Now I have actually educated myself about endometriosis, and basically, it sucks. Now I have realized that endo doesn't just explain why I have been infertile, it IS why I am infertile.

I had a scream/cry/swear(& sound like an idiot)-fest on the drive home from a weekend get together with my family:

My well meaning mother was obnoxiously hopeful that I would get pregnant very soon, because 28 year ago my infertility stricken aunt had a laparoscopy and then had a baby shortly thereafter. -So now I would too!

This was said in response to sharing some information with my mom about our progress on our adoption homestudy.

I get absolutely no feedback regarding my adoption pursuits. None. I actually get negative responses from some people, which sends me through the roof, but NONE? Typical. That's all I can say.

The most painful part of it was this: Her fixation on the fact that having a baby will magically "heal me". I absolutely feel that I could get pregnant now. I absolutely feel that I will be a parent. I absolutely know that having a baby will be very exciting and will heal some wounds. But it won't heal them all because baby or no baby I will still be an infertile woman. In what I guess was 25 years of married life + menstruation my dear aunt had two children. TWO. And as wonderful as her life is for her, or would be for many others, hers is not the vision I have for my own. For me, her life would be an abismal defeat.

My dream is to have CHILDREN. They will come into my family at various ages, they may or may not look like me, they may have issues (who doesn't), and they may not meet the criteria of being another person's dream children. But they are the what I dream of every day.

Validation!

I had my laparoscopy yesterday. The verdict: Endometriosis. Everywhere. Completely covering my bladder, my bowels, in and around my intestines, ovaries, fallopian tubes and so much in my pelvic cavity that it had pushed every item above to where it had no business being.
I am so relieved that I am not crazy. I feel so bad for giving my Uti such a bad wrap. I guess my woman parts aren't traitors after all, they just had an impossibly poor work environment.

Is Disneyland really the happiest place on earth?

Ugh. My inlaws have declared that in lieu of regular Christmas we are going on a family trip. This is good news. We have never attempted anything like a family trip, so I support this bold new step toward Utah style togetherness. The Ugh is for the Disneyland thing. There are 16 adults and five children that will be going on this adventure. The oldest child is in Kindergarten. and two of the children are actually babies. So is this really the best place for us to go? I have mixed emotions.
I haven't been since I was 12. And it was decent then.
Husband has seething hatred for Disneyland which is founded by nothing legitimate, unless "hating kids called Hunter and Trekker, and all their fat parents and grandparents" counts. I don't think this counts, but hearing Husband cite this repeatedly is so annoying that it is indeed beginning to count. Points for consistency.
I am open to the possibility that it may actually be fun for us. Who knows.
However, the pro Disney movement suffered a setback when my brother in law tried to persuade husband on the basis that Disneyland is so fun for his kids, and "don't we like seeing how much fun his kids are having?" Ummm -No.
I love my cute little nieces and nephews so much. But voyeuristic parenting does not bring satisfaction. Sorry. And who are you trying to kid? I know you also love your nieces and nephews but would you really want to spend the day on its a small world or dumbo strictly to see the joy on their little faces? I doubt it. I submit the hypothesis that parental love is a lot different than Auntie love. As it should be.
And truthfully, I know some wierd grown ups who go to Disneyland pre children. But husband and I are not that kind of people. We are the kind of people who probably, eventually, will suck it up so we can see a big smile light up our little Hunter/Trekker's face as he bobs up and down on Dumbo. But eventually is a long way away and it makes me so sad.

I drank a tall glass of backwash ya'll!

Of course, it was accidental.
I was washing a bunch of dishes after our YW Evening in Excellence. Washing enough to work up a mighty thirst. I quenched my thirst with a tall glass of delicious slush drink out of a pitcher sitting on near the sink. Delicious slush drink was a little watery and warm. Still pretty delish though. Helper lady walks in and yells "don't drink that it is the leftovers from all the cups on the tables!" An entire glass was already in my stomach. So this revelation was not helpful. It is still in there. Sitting like a paperweight of sludge.
I am trying to minimize this event.
I probably get more germs from my car steering wheel -right? And remote controls are filthy too aren't they? And I chow in the car, and while channel surfing.
And just think of all the great immunities this will allow me to build.
If I make it.

I am investigating the other woman...

There is an intruder who has wreaked havoc on my marriage since day one. Her name is Uti. She is my bossy, ornery uterus. Husband and I both dislike her. She always wants things her way, and gets it most the time. When I ignore her she pinches me, or kicks me. When she doesn't want to do "it", "it" don't get done. This summer I finally had had it, and scheduled an appointment with a OBGYN pain specialist who (marvel of marvels) actually listened to me. We scheduled a laparoscopy, to investigate/diagnose and laser off any endometriosis. Contrary to infertility folklore, this will not increase my fertility chances. The only way it would is they were able to unblock a fallopian tube, or remove scar tissue that prohibited me from ovulating. This will not happen as I: 1. Already had a hysterosalpingogram which indicated I had totally unblocked tubes. 2. Ovulate regularly. (I know so because I have done all the temperature charts, peed on too many sticks, mucked around in mucus (-I can't believe science in the twenty first century still needs to rely on that one.) and lastly, I know because Uti HATES to ovulate. I bloat and am so tender my footsteps on solid ground send pain through my angry ovaries.) So really the only thing gained from this probe into my woman world is to get some answers as to why all the shenanigans. So what is Uti's response to her impending exposure? Nearly perfect behavior! I think its because she wants me to second guess this decision and cancel the surgery. Not a chance Uti. You are going down.

What's with Edward Norton?

Mmmm. I find that man so attractive. He is in a suit on Conan O'Brien right now. Wow. I like him so much. He is not exactly the typical hunk. I guess the better question is what's with me?

Hooray for Health!

Based on my own written word I cleary come off as mean, cranky, and bitter, but worse than that, I am also flakey. I guess if I'm going to be a blog-hag, I can at least be a consistent poster - right?

Wrong!

I am happy to say that posting is purely theraputic bee-oti-ness, and I was shocked to see that my last need to vent was in JULY. I have truly been healthy and happy for a few good months. The source of my good mental health? Putting my time and energy and thoughts into the subject closest to my heart - adoption and fostering. I have been reading books on everything adoption related for the last few years. And I have started Utah foster/adoption licensing process. My heart is so entwined in this complicated, necessary evil. Even the happiest adoption outcomes cannot escape the fact that all adoption stems from loss. I have always felt in my heart that adoption is a road I could take, but I am still overwhelmed by the ground I need to cover to get to that road.

Who am I?

My dad says people change every seven years. I believed that was possible, even for me, but never considered it could be for the worse. What am I becoming?

Talking to my mom today I mentioned some church event I am dreading that will interfere with possible vacation opportunity. I have a really bad attitude about this particular "service opportunity" and in response my mom said, "well maybe you will get extra blessings for this". I replied, "yeah, I always do" because I really always am blessed about a hundred Atimes over for any small effort I begrudgingly make. Without exception. But Mom replied "Yes, but maybe you will get the blessing I am hoping for" I changed the subject. I have to be in complete control of the timing of baby talk with my mom. Her comment was sweet, genuine, and completely non-buggy, but I didn't want to push my luck. Actually, during said phone call I was on a spur of the moment beautiful drive in the canyon with my hubby, wasting time before going to a spur of the moment movie. Let's not be unrealistic here; my childless life is good. And that (at least consciously) was what I was really thinking at the close of that conversation.

Clearly though, based on the fact that it is past midnight, and I am needing so much self therapy, and nothing would feel better than being cruel and insensitive to every fertile person who has accidentally said something remotely dicey in my presence within the last three months (I have total recall when I am in a mood), I have been affected. I get irritated when people project baby longing onto me, yet obviously, based on how frequently out of sorts I am, they are probably right. Ugh. Why am I in such deep denial? Why did I feel nothing during the blessings conversation, yet come home and flip out about three completely un-baby related topics? Why can't I just feel and admit sadness. Why do I filter everything through robot coolness mode, then anger, then confusion, then confusing melancholy?

Help.

For your entertainment...

Here are a few direct quotes from the 'comment' portion of a pregnant friend's blog.

"the hardest thing I have ever done!"

'It took forever'

"we are struggling with ____ now too."

The topic? ........

Picking baby names. Wow, I guess my eye rolling reflex is connected with my gag reflex now, and I can't control either.

It is taking all of willpower to keep from adding my own comment.

Wanna know my favorite baby name?

Barf.

Trials

On a deeply philosophical note... I was watching the Bachelorette last night;) pleasantly enjoying the episode where the scorned men "tell all". I cannot count how many times the saying "Everything Happens for a Reason" came up. Cute when explaining why Gorgeous Hunk A was passed over for Gorgeous Hunk B, because we all know that Hunk A will find a substitute hot sexy wife and his heart will be magically healed just in time for US Magazine to print a spoiler before the final show airs.

But isn't overuse of that phrase really dangerous? The more people say it the more the idea really catches on that truly everything happens for a reason. And I beg to differ. I advocate getting rid of that stupid saying. It really only works when a great outcome happens after only a marginally bad bump on the road of life is hit. If you marry a really great guy after your first scumbag husband leaves you, did scumbag husband leaving "Happen for a Reason?" Maybe. But what if first husband was really great, and was hit by a drunk driver? Does the phrase work now? Does the "Everything" include child sexual abuse, suicide bombers killing innocents, murder, rape? Offensive isn't it.

This topic leads me into my frustration with people attributing trials to God. God does not give people trials!!! I hear this annoying lie all the time: "God gives us trials so we can learn and grow from them." The God I know is not the author of pain, illness, sickness, or anything ugly at all. We are subject to trials in this life because this is a fallen world, and we agreed to come here, gain a physical body and be tested. We were given agency. If I get cancer, did God give it to me? I say No. I have figured out that the bad stuff is just the contractual, unavoidable yang to the beatiful yin of the world. There must be opposition in all things for His beatiful plan to work. But when that opposition falls on His sweet children? I believe that he weeps for us before we even hear the bad news. Or he lights a path for us before it begins to get dark. I have figured out that infertility is one of the trials that I am going through, but God did not take away my fertility. I know that the Savior Jesus Christ knows exactly what I feel like, especially on the tough days. We do experience trials so we can learn and grow. And our Heavenly Father and His son Jesus Christ can help us learn from the trials we face, cope with them, and even overcome them. But did they create them? No way.

Watch Out....

I am in one of THOSE moods.

I hear my friend landed herself in the hospital a wee bit shy of her delivery date. Do I care right now? Real me does. MOOD me does not. MOOD me (MM) is simply annoyed by how said victim can overdramatize non-drama and actual drama (as is the case here) alike to the point that a normal compassionate person like me can't even conjure my normal lump in the throat empathy. Oh wait! I am choking down something - it just ain't tears.

I hate Mood me. It is definitely not the event that created mood me that has me so upset. It is my uncanny ability to recall hundreds of seemingly benign encounters and experiences, dissect them, strip them of their innocence, and turn them into ugly proof that the world is conspiring against me. I am a fuschia, hormone enraged She Hulk.

Happy Anniversary!

I am nearing the fourth anniversary of the beginning of my fruitless attempts at being fruitful. No babies yet. Not even a miscarriage. Not even a chemical pregnancy. Not even a missed period. It does not feel like I am nearing a fourth anniversary at all. A four year old is a relative new comer to the world. Things are still interesting and fresh to a four year old. I feel worn out - Like I am middle aged. And out of fairness to myself I truly am middle aged. I will liken my infertility age to something more similar to dog years. At one period exactly every 28 days, over four years, I am almost fifty two infertile years old. Now that feels more accurate.

I hope not to offend any fellow mule with my comments about not even having a miscarriage*

*Disclaimer*
*One of the side effects of my case of infertility has been a certain crassness and hardness in my manner of speech, my outward appearance, even my inner talk. I have began sporting a thin unsavory shell around me as a means to protect. But we all know how well those hold up. One tear squeeks through and the entire shell disinigrates. Ever seen M&Ms sitting in water? Yeah, not good.*

Grieving for my intangible losses is one thing, but my heart hurts so much for you who are given tangible hope only to have it flushed away. I realize that my plight could be worse.

This blog is my attempt at articulating the feelings I have, and the feelings I try so hard to bury. I have found so much comfort in commiserating with complete strangers who have given words to my pain when I had nothing but tears. Their blogs have made me laugh, made me cry, and made me own up to feelings and truths about myself that I had subconsiously been avoiding. My hope is that writing about my experiences might do the same for others out there. Maybe I can help the newest members of this crappy club we all belong to. After all, I have nearly fifty two years experience behind me.